Stonemason

I carve a head, shaping a nostril for breath,
though nobody will see it, high above the nave.
I am uncomfortable and scared of heights
but careful in each chisel-chip
tongue caught between my teeth.

The rising arcs of this steep-vaulted roof
soar high as youth’s ambition.
Then I’d had hopes of forming an apostle
to look clear over roofs from the West front
admired from the cathedral close.

Now I’m content to find the faces in the stone:
a girl I loved but never dared to tell;
this gargoyle fashioned like my enemy;
a green man winking from his mask of oak
eyes crinkled with my father’s laugh.